"Not a clue, but what I do understand is the stress of losing someone close to you." Mort cleared his throat before continuing. "My wife died two years ago and I still think I see her in the house. Now and then I can smell her perfume and it all comes rushing back. We all deal with grief in our own way. If you needed to get away from it, then that's how it has to be. No one is going to tell you that you've done something wrong."
"Except my mother..."
"She's dealing in her own way, too. You might not like it or accept it, but you can't change it. She'll come around. She's your mother. That's not an easy bond to break."
"But the things she said..."
"Put it out of your mind. Haven't you ever said something awful to someone in the heat of the moment and wished you could take it back? We all do it, especially to those we love the most."
Of course, Mort was right, but Linda couldn't help think there was something much deeper going on behind the scenes. Her mother sounded like a caged animal on the phone. If she hadn't known any better, she wouldn't have recognized the voice on the other end. If all Carol needed was a little time to grieve, then why had she changed her number so quickly? It was as if she'd been waiting for a reason to wash her hands of Linda completely.
"Do I have to pay extra for the therapy session?" she asked.
"First one is on the house."
"Do you do this for everyone who stays here? Like some sort of pay-up-front bonus?"
"Just for the folks I like."
"Well, thanks I guess. What else do you want to know?"
Linda found that once she had a willing ear, she was eager to talk about everything that had happened. Still, she had to be very cautious about what she let slip.
"Why did you leave your apartment in such a hurry?" Mort asked. "What happened? Who happened?"
She closed her eyes and took a minute to get her thoughts in order and find a way to explain her time at the Blackridge.
"The place was falling apart," she said. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either.
"So you took off and left all your stuff behind?"
"The place felt wrong. The people felt wrong."
"That's all you're going to give me?"
"I don't know what else to say. It should have never been built. The Blackridge may as well..."
Her words caught in her throat as Mort clutched his chest and fingered the gold chain hanging around his neck. A crucifix dug into his fingertips.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Don't worry about it, I'm fine. It's been quite a few years since I heard that name."
"You know about the Blackridge?"
"Probably better than most, but it's not usually something that comes up in conversation."
"Well? What? Tell me! You grabbed that thing around your neck like you were hanging on for dear life."
"This chain belonged to my wife. She was wearing it the day she died. I like to think that part of her is still connected to it, ya know?"
"You're scared of something," Linda said.
"Do me a favor, huh? Go back to your room and stay there. I'll come over when I close the office and I'll bring dinner."
"Dinner? Are we dating now?"
Mort grabbed his stomach and laughed. "Most definitely not, but it looks like you could eat."
"You're not wrong," Linda replied.
"I'll grab some pizza, maybe a few other things. This ain't charity, kid, but if we're going to talk about the Black... about that place... we might as well have something in our stomachs. Deal?"
"First, tell me why."
Mort thought about it, stopping and starting several times before he could articulate his words.
"I was there once. Long time ago. I'll never forget what I saw and heard in that fucking building, and I'll never forgive myself for bringing my wife into my madness. I was lucky enough to bury all that, but unfortunately, I had to bury her as well. Not everyone is lucky enough to get away from that awful place, so consider yourself one of the fortunate ones."
"You're going to have to do better than that," Linda said.
"Do we have a deal or not?" Mort watched her with eyes that begged her acceptance.
She thought about it, smiled, and said, "I'll see you tonight."
***
Linda showered, tidied the room, and waited.
She didn't know why she was so nervous to hear what Mort had to say, but any thought about the Blackridge filled her with dread. At least now she knew she wasn't the only one. She no longer had to wonder if what she'd seen and experienced had only been a figment of her imagination or the aftereffects of a booze binge. Mort had no reason to lie to her. He was visibly shaken just by the mention of the name. If he had information, she was more than willing to listen.
A little after nine, there was a quiet knock on the door. Mort carried a cardboard box with two large pizzas balanced precariously on top. Linda couldn't remember when she'd last eaten, but the promise of a warm meal made her mouth water.
"I could have come to you if it saved you the trouble of having to carry all this crap around," she said. "What is all this?"
Mort placed the box on the bed, set the pizza aside, and opened the cardboard flaps. "A few things I thought might make you feel a little better." He pulled out a six-pack of Dr. Pepper, a new toothbrush, a tube of Crest, and a stick of roll-on deodorant.
"I can't accept all this," Linda said.
"I can see when someone's in a bad spot. If it makes you feel any better, you can add it to your bill."
"What about the pizza?"
"Oh, no worries. You already paid for that."
Linda giggled and peeked into the box to see what other gifts he'd brought.
"Clothes?"
"Some of my daughter's old stuff," Mort said. "It should fit you until you get yourself straightened out. You can give it back or toss it later."
"Mort, thank you." She wanted to hug the man. She'd only known him a few days, but he had gone out of his way to make her comfortable. The world needed more Morts. "I don't know what to say."
"Don't have to say anything. Some of these clothes are ugly as sin."
Linda dug around in the box and pulled out a set of pajamas - light blue with large yellow ducks. She smiled and set them aside. She found a hairbrush and several other toiletries as well.
"Looks like you brought everything a girl would need."
"I raised one, didn't I? Probably one of the few things I was ever good at."
"Do you mind?" Linda asked, motioning toward the bathroom.
"Course not. That's why I brought it."
Linda grabbed the brush, toothpaste, and pajamas and disappeared into the bathroom while Mort devoured a piece of pepperoni pizza. He removed the rest of the clothes from the box, placed them on the bed, and reached in to grab a thick photo album he'd hidden beneath them. He quickly put it on the nightstand and wiped his hands on his jeans as if he felt dirty touching it. When Linda reappeared, he was halfway through his second slice.
"Did you leave some for me?" she asked.
"Nope, sorry."
They ate in silence. Linda couldn't remember pizza ever tasting this good before. She finished half of one pie herself and went for a fifth slice before giving up.
You are eating for two, she thought, followed by, to hell I am. It was impossible not to think about it. Would she tell Mort this little detail? Explain to him how Al Sterling had his way with her in a cold basement while the building's tenants looked on? Even she had a problem believing it. If not for the swell of her stomach, she could have forgotten all about it. She could have convinced herself that it was all part of one long, sick dream, but it clearly wasn't the case. Luckily, the pajamas Mort had brought were a little big, allowing her to hide her secret unless she chose to tell him.
If he didn't already know.
"So this has all been wonderful, and I can't thank you enough, but why are we really here?" She asked.
&n
bsp; Mort finished chewing and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. He took a long swallow of soda, burped, and placed the empty can on the floor. "What can you tell me about what happened at the Blackridge?"
"I'm not sure I can explain that. It doesn't feel real."
"Start from the beginning," Mort said. "Tell me everything."
Linda finished her soda, ran a hand through her hair, and closed her eyes.
This is it, she thought. All the niceties and kind words are going to be a thing of the past. He's going to think I'm batshit crazy.
"It's going to sound insane."
"Trust me, there's nothing you can say that's going to change how I already feel."
She found that as soon as she started talking, she couldn't stop.
***
"I'd just gotten out of an awful relationship," she began, "and I was living with my parents in Scranton."
"You're a long way from home," Mort said. "This guy must have been a real winner."
"He was angry, possessive... the type of guy I told myself I'd never fall for. It didn't start out that way, but as time went on, it got worse and worse until finally, I had enough. The creepy bastard started showing up at my parents' house at all hours of the day and night, and I couldn't do that to them. At my age, I shouldn't have been living with them in the first place, but I had nowhere else to go. Once Christian started showing up and calling their phone in the middle of the night, I started looking at apartments. I thought if I got far enough away, he'd lose interest. After a few weeks, I found an ad for a room in the Blackridge. It was close enough to home for my parents to sleep a little easier, but far enough away to make it harder for Christian to track me down.
"The first time I saw the place, especially the apartment, I fell in love with it. There was plenty of space, it was well-kept, and it was quiet - all things I was looking for. Al Sterling, my landlord, seemed like a nice guy..."
Mort flinched at hearing Al Sterling's name and once again reached for the golden crucifix around his neck. Linda looked at him curiously and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm okay," he said. "It's a name I'm familiar with. Let's just leave it at that for now."
Linda nodded and continued. "My best friend, Theresa, and her brother Lenny, helped me move in... familiar faces in a strange place, you know? Have a few drinks, a few laughs, try to make it my own. I'd been friends with Theresa since I was a kid, and knew her brother about as well as anyone, but that night something happened, and I'm still not sure if it was real or if it was all in my head. Drinking has been my favorite pastime lately, but since everything fell apart with Christian, it's gotten worse. After Theresa and I had fallen asleep, Lenny came into my bedroom... at least I think he did. It was his voice, but it was still too dark to make out his face."
"I know where this is going," Mort said. "You don't have to give me any details you don't want to talk about."
"It was so... I don't know... out of character for him to try anything like that, but what other explanation was there? No one else was in the apartment. It put up a wall between me and Theresa, and although we tried to move on from it, I knew things had changed permanently. After that, it all fell apart, and she made it pretty clear she wanted nothing to do with me. Lenny had told her whatever he wanted to, and she obviously believed every word. I haven't seen or spoken to either of them since."
"Have you tried reaching out to Theresa? Get her side of the story?"
"No. I'm too embarrassed, or too ashamed. I don't know why I feel that way, but I do. I wasn't the one who messed up, and yet I feel like it was my fault somehow."
"What happened next?"
"I don't have a simple answer for that. Everything started to blend together. The neighborhood is so empty. It's like everyone picked up and moved out and I had the entire block to myself. The only people I saw more than once were Al Sterling and the woman who lives at the end of the hall. I started having these awful nightmares, or what I thought were nightmares, but I can't even be sure about that anymore. There were... well... these orgies. People having sex on couches, drinking fine wine... behaving like they were socialites in some private sex club. These people supposedly lived in the building, but I'd never seen them, and before I knew what was happening, I'd become part of their depraved antics. There was a basement... and a bed... and some kind of fucking gate, and I knew there was something watching me from the dark, but my body was on autopilot. I couldn't fight back. I just went with it...
"Then I got word about my father's heart attack. My mother said he was behaving differently in the days before it happened, seeing things, worrying about someone stalking the house. I went to the hospital to see him, but it was only a body. Dad wasn't in there anymore." Linda held back a sob and wiped her eyes. "My Mom was only gone for a short time when the hospital changed. It was empty, cold, just like the buildings on Delaney Street. Theresa was there, but I knew something was wrong. It looked and sounded like her, but she was acting so strange. And Christian... in a wheelchair... his arms and legs were gone. You probably think I'm losing my mind, and maybe you're right, because now that I hear it all out loud, it does sound crazy. None of it could have been real. It's like my mind remembers two separate realities, and I don't know which is which."
"You're safe, Linda," Mort said. He placed a hand on her arm and held it there. "I don't think you're crazy. I don't know what you experienced, or what really happened, but I can see that you believe it. You don't strike me as someone who makes up stories just to get a rise out of strangers."
"You've only known me for a few days," she said. "If someone told me what I've just told you, I would run the other direction. What if I'm the one in a hospital bed hooked up to machines? Maybe I was in a car accident or something... or I had a brain aneurysm... or choked on a Hot Pocket! What if this is Hell?"
Mort patted her arm, squeezed her skin between his fingers, and pinched.
"OW! Son of a bitch! What did you do that for?"
"Do you still think you're dreaming? Or dead?"
"I don't know," she shouted. "Did you have to pinch me?"
"Would you rather I slap you?"
"No! Keep your hands to yourself," she said, but now she was laughing. She rubbed her arm and backed away several inches as Mort smirked and slowly bobbed his head.
"Don't worry, I won't do it again," Mort said. "You're not dreaming, and this is not Hell. I know I've let the place go, but it isn't quite that bad, is it?"
"You know what I meant."
"What about that?" Mort pointed at her stomach. "Is that something your ex-boyfriend gave you, or is it a parting gift from your time at the Blackridge?"
"How could you know about that?" Linda asked.
"You're not exactly doing a great job at hiding it."
"I haven't done anything with anyone else other than Christian."
"What about the thing with Sterling?"
"That was only a few days ago. There's no way..."
"Did you notice it before?"
"Well, no, but if it's Sterling's, and if I'm not completely crazy, babies don't pop up overnight."
"Does anything else about the Blackridge make sense? Everything you've seen and you're still not convinced?"
"It's physically impossible."
"Like everything else you've told me so far?"
"The rules of biology don't change," Linda said, trembling.
"All the rules change in the Blackridge."
"What is it?" Linda asked. "How can a building have that kind of power?"
"I can't answer that," Mort said. "Whether it's the building or the people who live there, there's clearly something that can't be explained."
"It felt like I was living in a cemetery full of ghosts."
"Not ghosts," Mort said. "Monsters. Demons."
"Demons?"
"All I can be sure of is that they're not human and they have some ability to change your perception. They lure people in, use them. By the time you figure out something
is wrong, it's already too late."
"Too late? Too late for what?"
"Too late to escape... too late for a normal life."
"I did escape," Linda shouted. "Whatever is going on there is over and I'll never step foot in their again."
"It isn't over, not for you and not for any other unsuspecting sap looking for a better life. Your family and friends are gone or have turned their back on you. There's a child growing inside you and decisions that have to be made. You may have gotten out, Linda, but did you really escape?"
Linda hated Mort for being right. Physically she walked away, but emotionally, her time at the Blackridge would never fade. Not with therapy, not with booze, not with time and distance.
"You know an awful lot about it," Linda said. "What happened to you?"
Mort exhaled, looked at the floor, and said, "Something I'll never forget."
The seconds turned to minutes as he gathered his thoughts. When he started talking, Linda was terrified of what he had to say.
***
"I had my own experience in the Blackridge," Mort said. They'd both finished another slice of pizza and a second Dr. Pepper before getting back to their discussion. Anything to put it off for a few more minutes.
"You lived there?" Linda asked.
"No, thank God, but what little time I spent there was more than enough. See, when I was younger, I was still up for any challenge, no matter the consequences. I think we all go through that phase. We're promiscuous, we try drugs, we flirt with disaster. It's almost a rite of passage. After a night of drinking, my best friend Jason got shit-faced and started telling ghost stories. He wanted to be a writer someday, and I imagine if he'd ever put his mind to it, he would have been a damn good one. Unfortunately, he never got the chance.
"He told me about the Delaney Street haunted house... a building so evil that no one dared enter. I knew it was bullshit. Jason told stories like that every time he had a few beers under his belt. I didn't believe in ghosts, but it was always a pleasure listening to his stories. All small-town kids have tales. What else is there to do but let your imagination keep you occupied? But I'd never heard of the Blackridge before that night, and I assumed Jason was up to his old tricks. Places like that become urban legends; friends pass it on to other friends, fathers use it to scare their children into staying away. The fact that I'd heard nothing about it made it even more of a curiosity."
Tenants Page 20